


Lovesick Melody

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Cannibalism, M/M, Murder, Necrophilia, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 04:07:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12100374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Day by day, Victor thinks Yuri looks more beautiful than before. Pale, bluish skin; lackluster hair; the bones sharp under his skin; and the veins he can trace with absolute reverence.He wishes to free Yuri from his suffering, to keep him just as beautiful as he always has been.He can feel his mind slipping.





	Lovesick Melody

**Author's Note:**

> Cough so warnings, 
> 
> Aside from the tags, probably there's implied auto-necrophilia, so much blood, etc the usual. 
> 
> This fic is for you all thirsty people in discord (I ONLY PLANNED TO WRITE BESTIALITY FOR YURIO WEEK AND YOU ALL MADE ME WANT TO WRITE NECROPHILIA, SHAME ON YOU).
> 
> I hope you guys like this. 
> 
> (Also, huge thanks to Gummy who helped me edit this shit.)

“You can fuck my corpse after I die,” Yuri says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Victor raises an eyebrow. "That's hilarious," he says in casual tone but his fist clenches around the apple he's cutting.

"You can absolutely do that." He lies back on the bed looking at Victor's tense back. "I won't mind. I totally won't."

"That's absurd."

"You think it's absurd?" A slight smirk stretches on his mouth and Victor wants to yell or kiss that mouth shuts. "Don't you think it's kind of hot?"

"No, it's not."

"I think you're getting boring in your old age." he chuckles.

Victor stares at him silently. For the past few months, Yuri rarely laughs anymore and when he does, his laughter will soon turn into coughing up blood—spilling blood all over the blanket.

"Yeah well, just accept this as my permission okay?"

"Go to sleep," Victor tells him instead, avoiding soft green eyes on him. He has no time for absurdity.

Yuri will survive. He certainly will.

——

Another day, another failing organ.

"I want to eat Pirozhki." Pale lips pout as he glares at Victor.

"You can't eat Pirozhki," he replies, rolling his eyes at the ridiculous request even as his hands brush the blond strands, brittle and thinning but still as lovely as ever.

"I'm going to die anyway, why can't I eat my favorite food now?"

He hates it when Yuri is flippant about his death, always acting as if it's an absolute thing that will happen. It is inevitable, of course—everyone is going to die in the end. But not now for Yuri. He's _too young_ , _too beautiful_ to leave this world.

 _Too important_ to take Victor's heart along with his death.

"Victor—" Yuri starts to say, fingers twitching to take his hand. Victor lets the blond locks fall to the floor and entwined his fingers with Yuri's, pale with pronounced veins, bony and fragile, and he holds those fingers like a lifeline.

——

Yuri is beautiful, even as he lies on the bed with his breaths rattling inside his ribcage.  

Day by day, Victor thinks he looks more beautiful than before. Pale, bluish skin; lackluster hair; the bones sharp under his skin; and the veins he can trace with absolute reverence.

Yet, he remembers the days of Yuri standing under the sunlight, wearing a smug smirk on his pink lips, and the blush darkening his cheeks. He remembers how they used to lie together on the bed, untouched by the night as their fingers roamed each other.

He remembers when Yuri was his and not the shell of the person he used to be.  He used to be so bright and fiery, whose will to live was strong enough to keep both of them afloat. He remembers Yuri, the one who lived without agony and not possessed by his illness.

He wishes to free Yuri from his suffering, to keep him just as beautiful as he always has been.

He can feel his mind slipping.

——

"Pirozhki?"

"I made them myself." He cooked them as soft as possible so Yuri doesn't have to use a lot of energy to chew. "Aren't I amazing?"

Yuri looks at him suspiciously. "These pirozhki look disgusting."

Victor gasps dramatically and clutches at his heart. "Even my lover doesn't believe my skill in cooking, what am I supposed to do?"

A smile turns into bouts of laughter, which, as anticipated, turns into a round of coughs. Victor watches warily as Yuri's breaths even out, and Victor wipes the blood from Yuri’s lips.

"Get me a drink first. Ugh, blood tastes disgusting." Yuri quickly sips the water that Victor offers. Victor puts the glass on the bedside table after Yuri is done and climbs up the bed to settle beside him. “Go away.” Yuri pushes him weakly.

“Never!” Victor grins. He takes a piece of pirozhki and places it before Yuri’s lips. “Say aaah…”

Glaring even harder, Yuri bites the piece of pirozhki—making sure he bites Victor’s fingers at the same time—and ignoring Victor’s pained cries as he chews calmly. The frown that usually mars Yuri’s forehead smoothens and green eyes widen the longer he tastes the pirozhki.

"This is surprisingly good," he begrudgingly says.

Victor grins at his grumpiness. He leans down to kiss his cheek, smelling his scent, and closes his eyes. "My love," he murmurs to his neck.

"How cheesy," Yuri grumbles and bites his ear. "Love you, too, idiot."

Victor laughs at the reluctant tone. It's just so _Yuri._

"Now I'm going to sleep. Good night."

"Good night, Yura." He strokes the blond hair fondly, waiting until Yuri's lungs are breathing no more from the poison inside his bloodstreams.

Fingers traced Yuri's skin, getting colder and colder as he kisses his face, his neck, his hair, and lips—plump and blue and _beautiful._ He tears out his clothes to bare Yuri’s body for his eyes only. His curves, pronounced rib cage and the dip on his stomach. Legs, he mourns for how skinny they are now. Licks his ankles and spreads those legs— _bruised and battered—_ wide, curls his finger to get inside Yuri.

Yuri is still warm inside. Victor replaces his finger with his cock and thrusts slowly. It’s tight and the friction is painful—but the pain grounds him to reality. So he thrusts deeper—harder, and leans down to kiss the pale blue lips, eyes on the closed eyes of his lover. He raises his fingers to open up those eyes, looking at the unseeing green eyes and feeling his heart bursts from how much he yearns.

It doesn't take long until Victor bites Yuri's neck deep, tasting the cold blood on his tongue as he comes. He stays inside, letting his body cools down and his come drips to the sheet.

Yuri is still beautiful. He's free from the clutch of his illness and not in agony anymore.

But Victor is cold without Yuri's warmth.

And as he lays his head on Yuri's no longer beating chest, he takes a long look, considering the knife on the bedside table, a silver blade with leopard patterned handle, Yuri's favorite and the one Victor skinned apples with in the dreary days following Yuri's illness.

Yuri has taken his heart with him in death. But he can't live without a heart. He needs the warmth of Yuri's heart in him.

So, he digs the knife deep into Yuri's chest, cuts it open and lets his fingers crawl inside to look for his heart. The fragile organ which took away Yuri's will to live and kept him in bed, wasting away. It's hideous, small on his hands and dripping with blood.

But it _is still warm._ And it is— _it's Yuri's heart._ The one person he loves more than anything. The one he wants to keep with him and who has his heart—and the one who is _his._

He holds the heart—the frayed veins and arteries just as delicate as Yuri standing before the _barre_ —on his palms and sinks his teeth. The spray of blood fills his mouth and he eats and eats and _eats_ ; licks the blood, until there's no more on his palms nor his fingers.

It doesn't appease him.

Not even after he leans down to drink the cold—everything is so _cold—_ blood dripping from the hollowed chest. Not even after he lays on the bed, head on Yuri's shoulder—pretending Yuri is holding him close like he used to—looking at the cold pale skin stained with blood on his front and the bruises on every inch underneath.

Everything is red and _he's cold._

But Yuri's hair is still the loveliest underneath the light. His lips are blue and plump and cold. Green unseeing eyes, yet _alive._

Victor loves Yuri and he _knows._ Yuri is still his, and he is Yuri's. That fact will never change forever.

——

"Yuri," he leans down to kiss his forehead.

He smiles softly at the smell of embalming. He's used to the smell now because it means _Yuri is healthy._ Yuri is still with him.

"Do you like the outfit for today?" Victor grins. "Well, I think you look like an abomination between a leopard and a tiger. Seriously, your fashion sense is _the worst,_ Yuri." He sits on the bed and sighs. "Even the bed has to be leopard prints. You're so demanding." Victor pouts and lies his back on the bed.

He hums in rhythm with the flies buzzing around the room, looking at them land on the garbage littered on the floor, fighting with other insects. The curtain is drawn and tattered, hiding them from the sun and the world outside. The bed is the only clean place because that's the place where Yuri is sleeping.

Victor takes Yuri's hand—rigid from embalming—and strokes his cheek. He sighs into his neck, feeling calm and warmth washes over him.

He's fine, they'll always be fine. Because he will always have Yuri beside him and his heart—inside him. They are one and will never be separated. Victor will make sure of it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There are some technicalities involving dead bodies that I didn't write. 
> 
> Such as, when people die, they'll let out feces or urine and since I'm a lazy ass bitch, I didn't write the scat or watersport urine necrophilia (lol). 
> 
> Also, vague illness because I don't want to think what kind of illness (also lmao when  _Yuri's that sick_  he shouldn't be able to eat  _at all_  and can only use intravenous fluid). There's also the unnamed poison part. 
> 
> But like, fuck logic. If I write logic shit, it's going to be long ass shit fic and I'm far too lazy for that; so, to cheat, I write Soft Gore Poetic Bullshit™ instead. 


End file.
